


And Then May Came

by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, Cherik - Freeform, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Erik has Issues, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hurt Erik Lehnsherr, Inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, M/M, Memory, Memory Alteration, One Shot, POV Erik Lehnsherr, Poor Erik, Protective Erik Lehnsherr, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarkeStetler/pseuds/ClarkeStetler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goosenik/pseuds/Goosenik
Summary: Erik Lensherr and Charles Xavier have broken up, and Erik is done with the whole 'mourning' period. He goes to Rhyscorp Memory Care in order to have his memories of the relationship removed, aiming to improve his focus on his missions with the Brotherhood rather than the end of his relationship. Unfortunately, he has to see the memories as they're collected for removal, and in the process remember why he was in that relationship in the first place.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 30
Kudos: 53





	And Then May Came

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, darlings. We thought we'd try something with a bit darker of an arc this time around. Warning- it’s a bit sad! You’ve been warned on what you’re getting into!

“All right.” Leanna settled in front of Erik, resting her folded hands on her knee, her legs crossed elegantly in front of her. “So this process is recorded,” she said, gesturing to the video camera she had set up behind her chair. “I’m sure you understand- if in the future, you learn that you underwent this procedure, we have to be able to prove to you that it was voluntary.”

Erik didn’t take well to being forced into things, he didn’t take well to thinking that anything had been pushed on him. He could understand that eventually, if he were to learn that this had happened, he’d want proof that things had been entirely voluntary in order to avoid murdering the lot of them. He gave a short nod.

“All right. So, for the record: you’re sure about this? Memory-wiping is a one-way street. If we take these away from you, they cannot be returned.” She met his eyes.

“Yes.” He curled his fingers in and out of fists. He needed to stop thinking about this. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t sleep, he was all rage and grief and pain, and none of it was helping. It wasn’t helping and he needed to stop. He needed to be able to breathe and focus again.

“Okay,” she agreed softly, and gestured to the camera. “Tell the camera that you’re sure and why. Just a short message to your future self. Then we’ll get it started.”

He didn’t like cameras. He’d had too many unpleasant situations with them. So he settled for looking just slightly off the lens, close enough that no one would say anything. “I did this because there’s too much going on. I can’t focus, and this is the best way to get clarity. It’s the best option. It’s the only way to move past all of this.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She leaned forward. “You may see snippets of some of the memories as we move backwards through them and collect them for disposal. Try not to panic. It will be over soon. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” He looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes. He was ready. Ready to get rid of this anger, the sense of guilt, of shame, of pain, of sadness, of regret, of frustration and longing. He was a tormented thing, barely alive, barely breathing. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t focus on the missions he was assigned. He couldn’t do anything but rage and suffer.

He was ready to get rid of it.

“All right,” Leanna agreed softly. “Shut your eyes and lean back. Try to relax. I know it will be difficult. Focus on your breathing.” She waited for him to obey, then, “All right. Now, everything is going to get fuzzy. The flickers will come. Just ride through them, Mr. Lensherr. It will be over soon.”

He nodded, uncomfortable and unhappy, and did as she asked, closing his eyes and praying that everything would just go quickly.

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Erik.” Charles’ voice snapped, cracking like a whip, and he took a breath. He tried to turn away, already heading for the door. He wanted to avoid this argument, to get out and away from the anger and betrayal battering at his shields from his lover.

“Leave it, Charles.”

“Don’t tell me to _leave it.”_ He grabbed Erik’s wrist, yanking him back and turning him, impossibly-vivid blue eyes locked on his furiously. “God damn it all to hell, Erik. You told me you weren’t going to attack the convention. You _promised_ me, you swore, and I _believed you._ That’s why I didn’t look!”

Erik ground his teeth. “And things changed, Charles. That happens sometimes. Things changed, plans changed, and I didn’t consult anyone about it, we just went.”

“People died. People _died,_ how does that not matter to you?” Charles stared up at him. “What if it had been me? If _I_ was the collateral damage, would you be so callous?”

Erik threw up his hands. “Of course I wouldn’t, but it wasn’t. The people who died, the things that happened as a result, they were for the greater good. I’m creating a world that is going to be better for _all_ of us, a world that’s going to be stable and strong and safe.”

“Those people were loved by their families!” Charles grabbed his hands desperately, like he was adrift in the sea and Erik’s fingers were boards that would offer buoyancy. “Erik, you have to think. Please. _Please,_ don’t do this.” He released him, reaching up for his face instead. “My love, there is no difference between me and them,” he whispered, voice aching.

“There are a thousand differences between you and them,” Erik disagreed, not moving, letting Charles touch him, even as anger wrapped around his chest, boiled in his stomach. He looked down at the slim man before him, letting out a breath. “It’s different. They’re working against the cause, they’re doing things that you would never do. They’re completely different.”

“Please,” Charles murmured, and it was almost a beg. “Please. You have to stop. Choose this. Choose us. Choose peace. Bloodshed is not the answer you seek.”

“Bloodshed is what they _gave me,_ Charles.” It was a snarl, fury blowing through him anew, and Charles released him, turning to pace the room. The words poured out of Erik now, the smoldering anger fanned into a roaring flame. “Every day. All the time, there are mutants dying, being tortured and killed and torn apart and we’re the only ones _doing_ anything about it! Thousands, hundreds, destroyed and killed and tormented for just being what they are, because humans can’t handle being anything different, they can’t handle anyone new or strange, anyone who is even slightly off from what they expect. They are everything wrong, and I won’t stand and watch them destroy our kind.”

“What _you_ are doing is everything wrong!” Charles turned on him, hands clenching into fists. “Stop this. Don’t make me make you stop this.”

Erik stared at him, every drop of blood in his veins turning to ice as he drew back sharply. The world hardened to a point as blood pounded in his ears. “What did you just say?” Had Charles just threatened to compulse him? To take control of his body and force him to do whatever Charles wanted?

“Of course not.” Charles ground his teeth together, visibly bristling. “But I could get the plans for the future. I could tell them. I could warn people.”

“Stay out of my head.” Erik had never, not since they had been together, denied Charles entry so fully. His shields slammed into place and he glared at his lover, the threat hovering between them now. “You can’t control me. You think you can just compulse me to do whatever you want to do and just make me a puppet? Just a nice little puppet that does whatever you want?”

Charles stared at him as if he’d never seen him before in his life, and took a slow step back. “Is that what you think?” His voice was low and shook with anger.

“What the hell did you just say, Charles?” Erik was vaguely aware of metal snapping and twirling around them. “ _Don’t make me make you stop.”_

“By _warning_ them.” His voice cracked it out again, sharp as a whip and angrier than he’d ever heard it. “In the end, I’m just like every other telepath, aren’t I? We’re all just waiting at the edges to break in and make you dance for us. Poor Erik Lensherr, the put-upon puppet.”

Erik heard something behind him snap into pieces. “In the end, maybe that’s true,” he said coldly. “Maybe you’re right.”

Charles didn’t move for a long moment, and then he was crossing to the door. “You have one hour to get your things and get the hell out of this apartment,” he said, and it slammed behind him so hard the wall shook.

Erik snarled after him, letting the utensils in the drawers curl in on themselves, become utterly useless, as his power tore so much of their apartment to pieces in fury.

_**See?** Erik shook his head slightly in the chair. **Do you see? I can’t do it.** He couldn’t keep these memories, couldn’t listen to the man who had promised to love him, who had said he would never hurt him, sever the ties so completely over and over. Every night he dreamed and listened to Charles’ voice snap, listened to the door slam. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want it. It was impossible._

* * *

“Hey.” Charles caught Erik’s wrist, drawing him back toward the bed. “Hey,” he murmured, raising it to press his lips softly against Erik’s veins. “What if you didn’t, today? What if you just stayed with me instead?” He focused up on him, blue eyes soft and serious.

Erik checked his watch “I can’t just _not._ I’ve got people depending on me.” He ran a hand through Charles’ hair. “I mean, I _want_ to, obviously, but I’ve got people depending on me being there.”

A tiny flicker in his face, a soft mental press of _would it be the worst thing in the world if it wasn’t a success_ brushing against his mind. Charles felt it either mentally or physically when Erik stiffened, and let out a breath, raising Erik’s palm to his cheek. “I know, love. I know that what you’re doing… it’s important to you. But causing weekly chaos won’t change anything. Stay with me instead.” He looked up at him, beseeching. “It’s just one mission.”

Erik sighed, then leaned down, kissing him slowly. “One mission. But you can’t ask again for a bit, they really do struggle without me.” He settled beside Charles. “There. Are you happy now, _liebe?”_

His lover’s smile was incandescent, so bright that the flicker of frustration in Erik’s chest sputtered and blew out. “So much so,” he agreed, and caught his face, drawing him down for a slow kiss. “I love you, Erik Lensherr,” he murmured against his lips, fingers curling gently into his scalp.

The last tiny bit of irritation vanished and Erik kissed him back, pulling him into his lap so they were as close as they could be. “I love you, Charles Xavier. Even though you drive me up the wall. You are still my favorite person.”

Their kiss broke, Charles smiling too much to properly kiss him back. “Come what may,” he agreed, and leaned up to kiss him again.

_Come what may. Except, apparently, when Erik called him out on his shit. He’d threatened to compulse him. He had threatened to make him stop, he’d interfered and here was another example. They’d lost two people in the mission Erik had skipped for this. Love, relationships, breaking up, the grief after, they weren’t worth it. He had a mission. He couldn’t forget his mission._

_These memories weren’t going to help. They were going to make everything worse and worse, they were keeping him from doing his job._

* * *

“It’s your birthday.” Lips pressed against Erik’s ear. “And that means you can’t get out of presents, darling. Or cake. Or possibly, if I can manage it, a pointy hat.”

“Not a pointy hat,” Erik pleaded. “Please, for the love of God. I don’t need cake, or a present, or any of that. I’m old, and there comes a point when it’s just not necessary to _celebrate getting older.”_

“It’s not celebrating getting older,” Charles scoffed, settling into his lap comfortably. “Although you _should_ celebrate surviving another year, what with the life you lead. It’s not about that. It’s about me celebrating the fact that the person I love more than any other was born, and continues to live and brighten my life with his presence.” Charles kissed his jawbone and hopped up again, crossing to pick up a cake from the kitchen counter. “Presence. Presents. See how that works?”

Erik rolled his eyes, sighing in the put-upon way that he was so good at, but felt a certain kind of pleasure at the idea anyway. _The person I love more than any other._ When had he been that for anyone? Never. “You are insane. You don’t like a fuss for _your_ birthday.”

“Well, that’s entirely different,” he said, matter-of-factly. He busied himself with a lighter, humming softly as he worked. It was the same tune Erik woke up to sometimes, the one he hummed when they were curled up in bed together or Erik was having a nightmare. Sometimes it got stuck in Erik’s head for hours without Charles ever making a sound— courtesy of having a telepathic lover, no doubt.

Charles straightened with the cake, a three and a four candle sticking up out of it and blazing. The cake, he realized with a degree of amusement, had frosting skyscrapers sticking out of it every which way, chaotic and yet somehow balanced. 

“Happy birthday,” Charles said, beaming at him as he held the cake out. “Make a wish.”

 _I love you._ Erik smiled at him fondly. “So much,” he continued out loud. “My half-mad British man. Okay, I’ll make a wish, but you can’t listen, because you’d find a way to make _sure_ it happens, and that’s not fair.” He grinned and Charles laughed, not looking the slightest bit ashamed. “Promise? Birthday wishes are sacred.”

“I promise,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Cross my heart, I won’t listen.”

“Alright.” Erik considered, watching it, then smiled a little. _I wish I could always be this happy with him,_ he asked the universe, and took in a deep breath, then blew it out, determined to get all of the candles.

They went out and Charles cheered, setting the cake down on the table to cut it. “I would have sang,” he admitted sheepishly, “But my voice is absolutely dreadful. Do you want an outside piece or the center? How much frosting?”

“The center, I’m not really into frosting too much.” Erik smiled at him. “I wished that you’d get a semblance of a fashion sense and start wearing things that _aren’t_ also found in the wardrobe of an eighty-year-old.”

Charles gasped in mock-horror and outrage, staring at him for a moment and then, before Erik could react, he had scooped up a frosted skyscraper and smooshed it onto Erik’s cheek. There was a moment of stillness, and then Charles gave a yelping sort of laugh, turning and sprinting out of the room.

“I’m sorry!” He called over his shoulder, but the humor beating at Erik in waves was anything but apologetic. Erik gave chase, leaping at him and tackling him to the couch, rubbing his face into Charles’ curls as vigorously as possible.

“You are the _worst,”_ he informed Charles as he squeaked in protest, trying to push him off as he laughed. “I hope that takes a week to wash out. I hope all your students see it and think you had some kinky weird sex with icing.”

“That’s so rude,” Charles informed him breathlessly, rolling onto his back to grin up at Erik. “Now you’re not going to get your present.”

“I have a cake _and_ a present? Charles, it’s too much affection and cuteness and normalcy. How will I face my scary terrorist friends tomorrow?” He grinned down at him, resting a hand on Charles’ jaw. He was so beautiful, eyes shining and smile wide, all laughter and warmth and comfort. He wasn’t actually sure he’d had such a good birthday in his life.

“You could always just not face them,” Charles pointed out, shifting under him comfortably as the amusement and delight quieted a little. _Oh, come on. You knew that was too easy a shot._ He reached up, tracing a frosting-covered fingertip across Erik’s throat. “Presents,” he said out loud, leaning up to kiss him and push him back to sit up. “And cake.”

“I never stopped us from that,” Erik informed him loftily. “You attacked _me._ I’m going to tell everyone and they’re not going to believe me.”

“I’d believe you,” he offered, leaning over and kissing Erik’s cheek. He sucked some of the frosting off Erik’s jaw and got up, vanishing into the kitchen for a moment. He returned with cake and milk, as well as two small boxes balanced in his other hand. “Cake,” he said, offering it. “And presents.” He held them out.

“Presents? As in plural?” He took the cake and milk and put it down on the table, then took the boxes. “What are these?” He grinned and put them gently next to him, then pulled the top off the first one.

It was a beautiful copy of _The Once and Future King,_ metal embossed into the cover in designs of swords and the round table, the metal humming to him as he traced his fingers over it. It had to have been custom-made, he determined as he studied it.

“This is wonderful, Charles.” He turned it over in his hands, familiarizing himself with the warmth and beauty of the book before him. “Thank you. I have an old copy that’s falling apart.”

“I know.” He chuckled, taking a bite of cake. The warmth in the air changed slightly to uncertainty as Erik picked up the smaller package and opened it.

It was a ring, black and sedate. The metal was tungsten carbide, he decided as he pulled it out and rolled it between his fingers. He could feel the carving in the inside of the band with his ability just as well as he could with his fingertip. _Come what may,_ it read, and as he analyzed the etching, tilting the ring so that the words caught the light, he identified slowly that it was in Charles’ handwriting.

Erik traced the words carefully, slowly. “This is beautiful,” he said, turning his hand to admire the way that it caught the light. “Come what may. I like that.” He smiled at Charles, reaching out and wiping away a small smear of icing away from Charles’ face. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re biased,” he informed him, turning his head to kiss Erik’s palm. _You go through a lot. I just wanted you to have something to remind you who you are while you’re out there. That you’re loved. No matter what._

Erik’s chest squeezed. “I… thank you.” He pulled Charles into his side, turning his face into his hair. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling, what he was thinking, and he found himself very glad, suddenly, that he was with a telepath so Charles would understand anyway. “Thank you,” he said again. “It’s beautiful. These are amazing.”

Charles cuddled closer, tucking his head under Erik’s. “I’m glad you like them. Happy birthday, love of mine.”

_This hurt. Erik shifted uncomfortably. It hurt in a very different way than he’d expected. He had expected anger, had expected the normal grief. He hadn’t expected… this. To remember, so fully and completely, what it was like to be with Charles when things were good, when things were warm. When they were safe together._

_He’d forgotten the way it had felt, to feel_ home _with Charles._

* * *

Erik woke gasping, a cry for his mother to run ripping through him, his skin covered in sweat, his muscles tense and shaking. He was a mess. It had been a dream. He’d just had a dream, that’s all. A nightmare.

He became aware slowly that fingers were combing through his hair, a body wrapped around him. One hand was pressed to his chest, the other curled into his hair, legs tangled with his. Charles’ lips were against his ear, softly half-singing as he stroked his skin and hair.

“Never knew I could feel like this,” he murmured, “Like I’ve never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss… every day I love you more and more.” He paused for a moment to press a kiss against the shell of Erik’s ear, pausing in the tune he so often hummed to him. Erik hadn’t fully known there were words to it.

 _It was a dream, darling,_ his lover projected gently, fingers tracing a circle across his heart as he issued a soothing, comforting pulse through Erik’s thoughts.

Erik curled closer, turning his face into Charles’ neck. _Did you see?_ He didn’t trust himself to speak aloud. _Did you have to watch it too?_

Charles continued humming the tune rather than singing it, wrapping Erik a little more firmly in his arms. _Do you want me to have seen it?_

 _No._ Erik hugged him a little tighter. _That’s my nightmare. It doesn’t need to live in your head._ A very deep part of him was terrified of anyone knowing anything quite that personal about him, but he told himself that it was Charles, it was fine. Charles wouldn’t use it against him. Charles was good.

 _It was just a dream, love. It’s gone. Far, far away._ He pressed his lips to Erik’s forehead. _I can keep it away if you want me to. I can keep all the nightmares away if you let me, but I didn’t want to presume without your permission._

Erik took a deep breath, thinking about the violation of his privacy that this required, the ask that was occurring, and slowly nodded a little. “At least the ones about her,” he agreed. “I can handle the others, but the ones about her are… they’re different.”

 _I would never do it without your permission._ The words were half-whispered against Erik’s subconscious, almost lost and unnoticed entirely. Charles’ fingertips strayed, brushing gently against Erik’s temple, and there was a wave of warmth, almost like he’d just been covered in a blanket that had been pulled straight from the dryer. Charles hummed softly, kissing Erik’s forehead. “Go back to sleep, darling. You won’t have it again. I’ll keep you safe.”

Erik felt his muscles relax, melting into Charles’ side. “Okay,” he mumbled, feeling a smile cross his face. “I love you,” he said on a sigh. “Thank you.”

He was nearly unconscious when Charles resumed singing, stroking his hair back in slow, rhythmic motions. “Come what may,” he murmured into the top of Erik’s head. “I will love you until my dying day.”

_Warmth and comfort and love. Erik shifted fitfully, trying to push it away. It didn’t matter. None of that mattered, he’d betrayed him. He hadn’t gone through with it, but Charles had threatened to take away his freedom, had threatened to take away his mind and replace it with what Charles had wanted._

_That wasn’t love. This, these memories, they weren’t… they weren’t enough to change that. Just because he’d asked for permission here, just because he had done things differently toward the middle, didn’t mean that he hadn’t changed his mind later, changed his tactics later._

_His chest hurt. His heart hurt._

* * *

“Charles!” He knew for a fact that the telepath wouldn’t be able to hear his yelling from the lobby of the little apartment complex, but maybe he _could_ hear the panic and fear and nausea rolling in his stomach. He launched himself up the stairs two, three at a time, projecting loudly _are you okay where are you Charles are you okay where are you_

No answer, _why_ was there no answer--

He nearly broke the door down and saw Charles in bed, lifting his head slowly and peering around. “Erik?” he questioned, and his mental presence settled across him, almost like his hands on his skin. _What’s wrong? What’s happened? How can I help you?_ He fumbled out of bed and Erik nearly collapsed, yanking him into his chest and burying his face in Charles’ hair.

“You didn’t answer your phone.” He shuddered. “You didn’t answer your phone. I didn’t know-“ he stopped, his voice too shaky and unsteady to continue, and inarticulately pushed a vague collection of what he hoped were coherent memories- the Brotherhood attack on a building downtown, Erik getting a call, realizing that Charles usually ate at the restaurant beside it for lunch and it had been lunchtime. Getting a photo of bodies and crushed buildings. Not being able to get hold of Charles, the terror that he’d never expected to feel for anyone’s safety again.

 _Oh, darling._ His lover wrapped his arms around him, fingers stroking soothing paths down his hair and neck. “I’m okay,” he soothed. “I’m all right. I didn’t feel well this morning, I stayed home to try to sleep it off. I’m okay, you’ve got me.”

Erik dropped his forehead to the shorter man’s shoulder, turning his face into his neck. Charles was so warm and so good, he was so soft and gentle and comforting. He felt like home, like safety, when Erik hadn’t felt that way since he had been a child. He’d felt validation and acceptance, but not this natural warmth and comfort.

Erik squeezed his eyes closed a little more firmly. _I love you,_ he projected quietly, feeling his hands shake a little. He prayed Charles wouldn't just say it back to be nice, that when he rejected him he just did it instead of dragging it out, because someone good and warm and perfect like Charles wasn’t the kind of person who would love someone like Erik.

Charles stilled, fingers pausing on Erik’s skin, and then he projected. Charles’ mind was as warm as Erik might have guessed, warm and encompassing, filled at this moment with _he loves me he loves me he loves me,_ with delight and shock and a euphoria somehow stronger than the delight, somehow separate from it, all almost overwhelmingly bright with excitement. _He loves me,_ he echoed again, and tilted his head back to give Erik a brilliant smile. “I love you too,” he told him softly. 

Charles loved him. Somehow, someone like him, someone beautiful and kind and comforting and _good,_ loved Erik.

Erik gave a small smile, his heart pounding, and leaned down, kissing his telepath gently. _I love you,_ he repeated, tasting the words carefully. They were true. He hadn’t meant to say them yet, but they were absolutely true. _You love me._

Those were sweeter.

_But… but he hadn’t, really. If he’d loved him, if Charles had really been that good, if Charles had really cared that much, he wouldn’t have… Erik floundered, grasping at the vestiges of his anger. The anger was drifting away, replaced by a deepening grief of what he had lost, grief that was fed with every memory._

_Because… because Charles_ had _been good. Truly good. Charles had been warm and loving and affectionate, he’d on occasion made mistakes, but mostly… mostly he had just been-_

* * *

“-a telepath conference,” Azazel was saying, and Erik glanced up from the message Charles had sent him, a rather risqué photo of him laying on the bed in Erik’s robe. 

How did the man think he was going to focus for the rest of the day? Jesus Christ. Erik forced himself not to smile. “What did you say? Telepath conference?”

“It’s a good target,” Angel allowed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Half of them are government sell-outs anyways.”

“We could frame it as the humans,” Azazel mused. “It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch- humans hate Cracks almost as much as the rest of us. It would stir mutant outrage.”

“Not all telepaths are as bad as they seem,” Erik found himself saying, then rolled his eyes as they stared at him. But all he could see was Charles’ eyes, his smile, all he could do was think about how he was waiting for him at home. “It’s not a terrible idea, maybe, but we need to go slow, make sure that we have all of our ducks in a row before we go.” His phone buzzed again and he looked down.

_**CX:** You can’t fuck me in prison. Stop planning terrorist attacks and come home._

Erik grinned widely at the text. Angel and Azazel were debating logistics, he realized vaguely when he tuned back in for a second. The conference was in Boston, in a month. He focused back on his phone to reply, eyes catching on the photo again, and hesitated. A telepath conference. A _telepath_ conference.

He didn’t know if Charles was planning on attending, but it sounded like something he would go to. Charles was always insanely bubbly about his fellow psionics, even the ones who went a little dark. Either way, Erik wasn’t about to allow Charles to just… be blown up. Ideas raced through his head- he could hide the conference, could disable Charles’ car, could call in a ‘favor’, could even take him out of town or something. There was always something he could do, some way to keep Charles out of it.

“What do you think?” Azazel asked, breaking his reverie as Charles sent a photo of his lips, his teeth edging into the lower one softly.

“There’s a really important thing I’ve got to get to.” Erik stood, putting his phone in his pocket. “I think it all sounds like a good idea, yeah. I’ve got a mission, but I’ll be back. I’ll keep in contact, I’ll work on other parts.” There was no way that he was going to let Charles get hurt. He could easily derail him, distract him. He could do _something._

Azazel eyed him. “Okay,” he allowed. “Do you need a lift?”

“No.” Erik bit back his smile. “No, not at all, thank you.” He waved a hand and kept himself in a calm and sedate walk until he was at the stairwell. And at that point, he started jogging, texting _don’t get dressed_ to his telepath.

He all but burst through the door and Charles looked up at him in surprise and delight, the emotions washing across Erik like warm beach water. “You’re back early,” he noted, the shoulder of Erik’s robe falling back to reveal a slender, freckled shoulder blade as he got up from the couch. “What-“

Erik pulled him up and pushed him back against the wall, kissing him hard. _You are the most gorgeous thing,_ he projected at him with a growl, burying a hand in his hair. He could feel a flash of Charles’ amusement, but it was quickly overwhelmed by heat and want as Charles kissed him back, fingers curling tightly into Erik’s shirt.

_Mostly he had just been Erik’s. Erik let out a breath, trying to focus. It was strange, between memories, almost halfway awake, limbs and thoughts tired. Charles had been Erik’s. Everything had fallen apart, but god, it had been so good when they’d had each other properly, when Charles and Erik were together and relaxed and themselves._

* * *

“Charles?” Erik glanced around the darkened apartment with a small frown. He could feel him there, always a soft and warm presence at the fringe of his mind, but the presence felt subdued today, quieted and dulled.

“Erik,” his voice greeted him, and Erik looked around to find Charles sitting at the oft-neglected dining table, twirling a glass of what looked like brandy between his palms. “I didn’t know you were coming by today,” he noted, raising the glass to his lips. “Of course, it’s not exactly as if we text,” he added, giving a small and oddly bleak chuckle.

“No, we don’t.” Erik eyed him, then moved forward, taking the glass. “What’s the special occasion?”

“If I drink enough,” he said mildly, gesturing to the emptied bottle beside him, “My telepathy goes fuzzy. Not silent. Nothing ever makes it silent. But fuzzy. Isn’t that curious?”

“I suppose.” Erik shook his head. Jesus. That whole bottle? He was shocked that Charles could still speak. “I don’t know much about psionic powers.” He glanced at him. “Is there a reason you want to block out your telepathy?” 

“Does it matter?” His smile was more bitter than Erik had ever seen. “You’d be as relieved as the rest of them if I woke up, permanently deafened.” He took the glass out of Erik’s hand and knocked it back, swallowing the remainder of the brandy smoothly. “Go home, Erik. I’m in no mood to be company today.”

Erik considered this, watching him, then shrugged and got up, heading into Charles’ kitchen and rooting through his fridge. There was enough to make a few different meals, he decided, mentally compiling the things he could see and waving a hand as the pots and pans came out of the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Charles leaned back slightly, watching him through the doorway with a frown.

“Making food.” Erik shrugged. “I’m hungry, you need to eat, I don’t like eating alone.”

“I’m not hungry.” Charles got up, opening the cabinet above the sink and pulling out a bottle of vodka. “You can eat, I guess,” he allowed after a moment, words very slightly slurred.

“I need this to cook with.” Erik took the bottle and put it on the fridge, slightly out of Charles’ reach. He got him a glass of water, watching him out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure how much he’d drank, but he needed to stop. “Drink this, and you’re going to eat something as well. Go sit and put on some music or a movie you like.” He gently pushed Charles back toward the door.

“I don’t have a telly,” Charles informed him smartly, going completely limp so that Erik had to take his full weight or let him drop.

Erik scooped him up, carrying him into the living room and settling him on the couch, sitting up and searching his face. Something had gone badly wrong today. He reached up, pulling Charles’ sweater onto his frame properly, feeling a very strange pull of what definitely felt like concern in his chest. “You don’t have a television. Of course you don’t. Just stay here. Sit up, and drink your water. I’ll get you another one, but you do have to drink something and eat something.”

He muttered something that sounded a lot like _I had something to drink,_ but then he was settling back into the couch, curling around Erik very slightly and watching him with unmistakable sadness. He reached out, poking his cheek gently. “Go home,” he suggested.

Erik ran a hand through the soft curls. He didn’t want to examine why it was that the sad little smile made his heart twist, made him hurt in some weird way. Charles wasn’t someone who should look like that. “Maybe I don’t want to go home. What’s going on with you today?” 

Charles let his hand drop, watching Erik’s elbow dully. “My ex texted me.” He let out a sigh, heavy and rough. “He asked what they always ask.” He reached out, tracing Erik’s arm muscles with a delicate fingertip. “What you’ll ask, someday.”

“Oh yeah?” Erik watched him. “What is it that I’m going to ask? I like to know things in advance.”

Charles let out a little laugh at that and shook his head. “How much of it was real,” he said tiredly after a moment, “And how much was me influencing things. Influencing him, or you. Making the love bigger, the attraction deeper, blurring out annoyances or imperfections or… whatever. How much was the feedback loop, how much was actually real.”

Erik turned this over in his head, frowning a little as he thought about what it might be like to be on either side of that equation. He hadn’t been seeing Charles for very long, but this didn’t seem like anything he would do. It didn’t make sense.

“Okay,” he said thoughtfully. “And how much of it was real? Do you blur out imperfections, make things stronger, influence people like that?”

Charles watched him for a moment, tired eyes steady. “See?” he asked softly. “No one can be sure. No one can just trust.” He pulled his hand back from Erik’s arm, playing with the ring on his right hand instead. “I’m a telepath, so surely I’m up to things. The fact that I _could_ be up to things is sign enough that I am, because who would have that much power and not abuse it? I didn’t ask to be this way, you know.” He didn’t look at him, the words a little more slurred than the others. “It’s not what I would have picked. I don’t- I don’t _try_ to influence people. But I can’t stop from projecting sometimes. When I’m happy, people around me are happy, and maybe- maybe that makes them stay longer, maybe that’s wrong, but I don’t always know I’m doing it. And I can’t help but know when they’re stressed or angry or worried, and what about, so I help reduce the causes and that’s cheating but I didn’t _ask_ for it and I can’t _not_ hear it.” His jaw worked. “I didn’t want this. I was just born this way.”

Erik took Charles’ hand, hesitating for a moment before he kissed his palm. “I know,” he agreed after a moment. “My point was, if you don’t do those things, then he should fuck directly off. He’s just insecure, and stupid. You’re a marshmallow. It’s ridiculous. I’ve never met a telepath like you, and it’s strange to say, but you are genuinely unique in so many ways from my experience.” He leaned over, pressing his lips to Charles’. “He can go fuck himself, because he isn’t here, and that’s his problem. I get you now, somewhat.”

Charles pressed their foreheads together, catching the back of Erik’s neck clumsily. “Can you promise you’ll keep that opinion?” he whispered unsteadily.

“Unless I can seduce you over to the dark side, yes.” Erik grinned a little, wrapping his arms around Charles and pulling him closer. The telepath really was so slender, so delicate. It was shocking how powerful he was when he looked like a strong enough wind could shatter him. “I won’t ask you that. If you’d do that kind of thing, you would have come along with my plans before now.”

Charles gave a small laugh, burrowing closer, and fell silent.

 _Erik moved again, sharply. This memory hurt. This memory burned and stung like a thousand bees, Charles afraid and hurt that people thought he would do something… would do exactly what he_ had _done, in the end._

“Stop this. Don’t make me make you stop this.”

“What did you just say?” Had Charles just threatened to compulse him? To take control of his body and force him to do whatever Charles wanted?

“Of course not. But I could get the plans for the future. I could tell them. I could warn people.”

_Wait. Erik froze, replaying the conversation over and over. Wait. Wait, no. No, hadn’t he… hadn’t he outright said he would compulse him?_

“Of course not. But I could get the plans for the future. I could tell them. I could warn people.”

 _Oh fuck. Oh_ fuck. _Erik’s heart raced, his breathing becoming raspy. That wasn’t what he’d meant? That wasn’t what he’d_ meant?! _Erik had misunderstood and he had lost this, lost Charles, the only person who had ever made him feel at home and safe and-_

* * *

“Erik.” Lips brushed against his ear, then his cheek. “You fell asleep.” Amusement laced through that beautiful accent. “Was the movie that bad? I don’t think you made it through the opening scene, darling.”

“What?” Erik opened his eyes a little, frowning sleepily. “What movie?” he reached up, reaching for Charles’ face. He was so warm, so soft. “You’re warm. You made me fall asleep,” he grumbled.

“You’ve been working too much,” Charles observed, amused as Erik patted his cheeks. “It’s okay. It was rather… a lot.” He snorted. “You didn’t miss much. I’d point out that some of the music was good, but none of the music was original, so…” He turned his head, kissing Erik’s wrist.

He smiled up at the telepath. “Well, that’s what happens when you choose the movie and not me. I am sorry, though. I didn’t intend to be rude.” He yawned and rested his head back on Charles’ thigh, resting his hand on the other man’s knee. “You’re very comfortable to sleep on.”

“It’s a gift,” his lover said wryly, sliding a pillow under Erik’s head and shifting beneath him. “And thank you, but I saw the movie you had picked out in your head. I’m still not convinced that _Fatal Attraction_ would have been better than _Moulin Rouge,_ thank you very much. It sounds terrible.”

“It would have.” Erik laughed. “Because _Fatal Attraction_ at least has _regular_ crazy people in it. Not a damn musical. What is it with you and musicals? They’re almost always terrible.” He squinted up at the professor. “Why do you keep hoping to find a decent one? You won’t find one. They’re all terrible.”

“It’s a hobby.” He grinned down at him. “Everyone tells me I need more hobbies than reading and chess. Looking for a good musical is mine. Besides- sometimes the music is really good, even if the plot is lacking. I’m an awful singer, but I do like to listen to it. And you wouldn’t believe how many people sing and hum Broadway in their heads.” He chuckled.

Erik smiled. “I bet you’re a good singer,” he disagreed. “You’ve got the most ridiculously appealing voice I have ever heard in my life. There’s no way that you’re not going to be able to sing with it. You do need more hobbies- I keep beating you in chess.” He hid his grin in the pillow as he rolled over.

“You _wish_ you could,” Charles gasped, affronted, and pulled the pillow out from underneath him, pushing him off the couch.

Erik laughed as he hit the ground and stretched with a sigh. “Abused. Treated like garbage, it’s terrible. And here I was, coming here hoping for a good time. This is just the worst, Charles. Here I thought you were a pacifist.”

“Get out of my house, you whiner,” he chuckled, leaning down and hanging over the edge of the couch to kiss Erik warmly. “Go get some real sleep. Activism doesn’t happen by itself,” he added somewhat archly, smiling as he pressed another kiss to the corner of Erik’s mouth. “You can pick the movie next time.”

“Okay.” Erik smiled back and sat up, pulling Charles forward to kiss him back, then got up. “Alright, fine, fine. I’ll go. I am tired, actually.” He glanced out the window and wrinkled his nose. “Snow is terrible. I should have moved to the South. Go to sleep soon yourself, Charles.” Erik looked around at him, pulling on his jacket. “You do not get nearly enough sleep. You’ll snap and kill a student one of these days.”

“Flatterer.” Charles rolled his eyes, stretching out on the couch with a smile. “I’d tell you to be careful driving, but being that you’re a metallokinetic, I’m assuming I never have to worry about you and car crashes. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you around.” Erik smiled at him, watching him for a moment as he tied his scarf around his neck, then smiled and kissed him again. “Fine. I’ll go, and next time, I’ll make you food and choose the movie. You’ll like it better.”

“Says you,” he scoffed, but he was projecting happiness as Erik let himself out, bright and pervasive, a soft tune humming nearly out of focus in the background of his mind.

 _His telepath, **oh my god** this was wrong he had fucked this up, he had fucked up so badly, he had thought Charles was something that Charles had proven again and again that he_ wasn’t _and Erik had lost him, he’d chosen wrong, he had chosen so wrong and Erik was whimpering and struggling, everything was wrong and broken and it was because of him, because of what he had done, not what Charles had done, it was all him and he had ruined them and he had done this and-_

* * *

“So.” Charles eyed him, pulling the straw out of his drink and sucking it clean. Erik’s eyes followed the motion, and he shifted slightly in his chair. “You wanted to see me. Why? Some telepathic business for your terrorist friends?” He rolled his eyes, which Erik was pleased to see were as startlingly blue as he had remembered them.

“Not exactly.” Erik smiled. “I happen to like bothering you. What were you doing? Did you have some other plans?”

Charles raised his eyebrows, dragging the straw across his lips slowly, and then he moved back to allow Erik entrance into the apartment without a word. Erik stepped inside and looked around in surprise and not a little confusion. He liked it immediately, despite the chaos it was flooded with. There was a sense of warmth here, a sense of _home,_ a sense that someone not only lived in the space but loved it. Rugs and paintings were plentiful on the floor and walls. Half the furniture was made of books-- the coffee table, for example, was a large piece of glass atop a pile of books, as were the end tables on either side of the couch. The bookcases (of which there were four in the living room alone) were overflowing, books and pages and binders crammed in with no apparent sense of organization to it. There was no TV, but in its place a large blackboard covered in chalk dust. It was clean, though, whatever had been on it having been wiped away before Erik’s entrance.

“Tea?” Charles inquired, heading to the small galley kitchen. “I suppose even America’s Most Wanted get thirsty.”

“America’s Most Wanted does on occasion get thirsty,” he agreed, heading to the nearest bookcase and examining it. “These are interesting. You have so many books, you should open a library.” He found himself very slightly jealous, enjoying the strangeness of it. He wanted to have a bookcase like this someday, filled with so many things.

“You can borrow one if you like,” Charles offered, glancing at him through the doorway. “I daresay I have enough that one wouldn’t be missed.”

Erik raised his eyebrow and searched through until he pulled out a battered copy of _A Once and Future King._ “God, you’re so British,” he said, rolling his eyes. “King Arthur?”

“Hey, don’t come after King Arthur.” There was a smile in Charles’ voice as he poured from a teapot into two cups. “He is remembered and mythologized for a reason.”

Erik snorted and settled on the couch, opening the book and skimming through the first chapter. “You don’t write in your books,” he mused. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Oh, I have multiple copies of each,” Charles murmured vaguely as he carried the cups over. “One new copy to read, and a used copy that I buy secondhand and make notations in.”

“Wait.” Erik stared at him, the insanity of this plan making sense of the sheer volume of books around him. “I don’t… you live in an _apartment,_ Charles. How the hell can you have so many books? That’s insane to have two copies, just write in one of them!”

“Well, I can hardly write in a _new_ copy,” Charles informed him, scandalized as he set Erik’s cup in front of him. “That would be awful.”

Erik eyed him, fighting a grin that wanted to form. “You’re completely insane. Why not just only buy secondhand, then? If that’s your issue, then why not buy them all secondhand?”

“Because,” Charles said with something like feigned patience, “Then you don’t get the new book smell.”

The grin won and he laughed, shaking his head. “Insane,” he confirmed, taking the tea. He considered the chances that it could be poisoned or drugged, then slowly took a drink. He was strong enough to withstand whatever they did if it was drugged.

Charles stared at him, horrified, then took the cup out of Erik’s hand and took a drink from it. He held it back out, raising an eyebrow. “Someone as strong as me doesn’t have to resort to poison or sedatives,” he informed him tartly. “Now, that’s from London, so appreciate it before I kick you out for impertinence.”

Erik wasn’t completely sure what, exactly, to react to that first, so he just gave a slow smile. “You’re using your special London tea for me? Are you trying to seduce me, Doctor Xavier?”

He went slightly pink, but his tone was even enough when he scoffed, “You wish.”

He _blushed._ Erik grinned. “It is a very good plan. Excellent, in fact. I can also promise that you won’t have to work very hard.”

“You’re insane,” Charles informed him, the blush deepening as he took a drink of tea, and Erik never could remember, even in retrospect like this, how it went from that moment to him straddling Charles on the couch, kissing like he’d never kissed anyone in his life, the telepath’s confusion and excitement and want echoing through his mind and body in an insane feedback loop he’d never before experienced as their hands pushed at their clothes and each other’s.

_His Charles, warm and beautiful and happy and his, and he’d thrown it away. He was still throwing it away, Erik realized in horror. This was happening. If he stopped, if he made them stop, he could go find Charles, beg him to forgive Erik, tell him he was wrong, tell him how sorry he was. He’d do whatever Charles wanted him to do, whatever it took, to have him again, to stop this, to make the last thing Charles knew of him to be anger and pain._

_He was so good and Erik was so wrong, he had fucked up so spectacularly._

* * *

“So you’re a terrorist.” The Brit raised his eyebrows at Erik, azure eyes challenging. “No. Don’t even start with the ‘activist’ label, you’re a terrorist.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “Terrorist is a strong word. We prefer activist because it’s much more accurate. Terrorist implies that we want to inspire fear and terror, that our goal is intimidation.”

The man leaned forward slowly. “You people _kidnapped the vice president of the United States._ How is that an activist and not a terrorist?”

“Because we weren’t trying to incite fear, we were trying to kill people.” Erik grinned, leaning forward as well, so their faces were close enough that he could smell the tea the other man had drank earlier. “Those, very specific people.”

“People who had lives!” he protested, eyes widening even as they darkened slightly, dropping extremely briefly to Erik’s lips and their proximity to him. “Mutants are the next step in the evolutionary cycle and humans will eventually die out, but over dozens and hundreds of generations, not just all at once from a genocide! We can coexist in the meantime!”

“Can we?” Erik smiled slowly, tilting his head as he watched the other man, allowing their fingers to brush very briefly. “Meaningless lives. Unimportant lives. Sacrificed for the greater good, the greater cause.”

The Englishman gaped at him, caught somewhere between appalled and infuriated, and that seemed to have robbed him of speech for a moment. He found it again quickly. “Of _course_ we can coexist,” he fumed. “We live our lives and they live theirs! Just live and let live, just track our own paths without taking our own rage and vengeance out on someone else’s life! It’s not so hard to simply mind your own business.”

God. Erik grinned, tilting his head. “You are so goddamn sexy when you get mad,” he murmured. “You’re wrong, but that doesn’t make you any less hot.”

“I could punch you in the face,” the Englishman threatened, although he appeared to be entirely lacking in muscle mass and Erik was almost sure he didn’t know how to punch properly. “Excuse me!” he protested hotly, and Erik frowned slightly, considering.

“You’re a telepath.”

“I’m Charles Xavier,” he retorted. “I’m a hell of a lot more than a telepath.”

 _Yes, he was so much more than that and Erik had just thought of him as a telepath at the end, had diminished who Charles was into a shitty version of him and he had betrayed him. Not the other way around, it had been_ Erik _in the wrong,_ Erik _who had betrayed_ Charles, _not Charles betraying Erik and Charles had given him everything, had given him a home and a life and love and safety and acceptance for the first time in his goddamn life since his mother had died and-_

* * *

* * *

* * *

The memories stilled, leaving him in quiet and darkness for a moment. He was aware of the darkness, was aware of the bed beneath him and the room around him in a way that he hadn’t been before, able to feel his body in a way that he hadn’t felt before. Erik opened his mouth and then the memories reversed direction and flashed forward.

_Blue eyes more vivid than any he had seen in his life, turning on him with surprise._

_“I’m Charles Xavier.”_

_Charles snarking at him from across the table at a coffee shop, arguing as they played chess, arguing about politics, the weather, the education system, mutant genome theory._

_Red lips on the edge of his cup, tasting the drink first to assure Erik that it wasn’t poisoned._

Stop. Stop, stop, don’t take them

_Charles, opening a drawer in the dresser as he casually mentioned that Erik could leave some clothes in the apartment if he liked, assuring him in falsely nonchalant tones that he wouldn’t mind the space._

_Charles’ fingers in his hair, on his shoulders, on his chest._

_“Promise you’ll keep that opinion?”_

I’m so sorry, Charles, I love you so much, please don’t go, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking stupid, please don’t go, don’t believe me, I’m so sorry

_“You can’t fuck me in prison, stop planning terrorist attacks and come home.”_

_Charles leading him down the street, stopping to tie his scarf around Erik’s neck with a brilliant smile and a tease about the cold weather._

_“I love you.”_

I love you so much

_Charles sleeping on him, his fever slowly and finally breaking under Erik’s monitoring fingers, Erik’s breath finally coming easier._

_“Come what may.”_

Come what may- I love you, you loved me, and I hurt you, I’m so sorry, liebe

_Charles laughing, windswept and messy as Erik pressed down on the gas._

_Charles’ smile, his curls covered in frosting. “Happy birthday, love of mine.”_

_Charles wound around him in a movie theater, head tucked under Erik’s, ignoring the fact that they in no way fit in the seat together._

_“What if you just stayed with me?”_

I want to stay with you please stay with me, I love you so much please stay with me I’m so sorry

_Charles pressing his hands to his temples, stressed and worried, begging Erik to reconsider his plan of action, trying desperately to persuade him to leave vengeance to the side._

_“You have one hour to get your things and get the hell out of this apartment,” said so brokenly he didn’t know how he hadn’t heard it the first time._

No please please, please, _please-_

“Please don’t take them.” Erik shook, gripping the arms of the chair. He didn’t know if he’d been speaking any of it aloud before now, but he needed to fight through whatever this was, he needed Leanna to hear him, she needed to _stop._ “Please, I changed my mind. Leave them, leave us alone, please don’t take him.” He could feel tears on his face. He’d been so stupid. He’d let everything fall apart, he had hurt Charles so badly. “Please don’t take him, just leave them. I changed my mind, please don’t. Please just stop, I fucked up, I was so wrong, _please.”_

“It’s too late for that, Mr. Lensherr.” The woman’s voice was gentle, almost comforting. “It’s going to fade in ten, nine, eight...”

“No, please don’t.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d begged. He reached for metal, yanking on his binds, everything just panicked fear and anger. “Leanna, don’t, stop this, I’ll do whatever you want, just stop. I was wrong, I was so wrong, please stop, please make it stop, don’t take him. I need him, I fucked up, I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Five, four, three,” she continued softly, as if he hadn’t spoken, and he ripped at the infrastructure around him that he could feel in the darkness, drawing it towards him desperately. Better to cave the building in, better to cause untold damage, better to do God-knew-what than let them take Charles from him. He needed to apologize, he needed to tell him he was sorry, he needed to do what he could to make it _right_ because right now it was so wrong.

“Charles, I’m so sorry, tell him I’m so sorry,” Erik begged, and he could feel tears on his face and he didn’t have enough pride left to care, all he cared about was telling Charles how sorry he was, he _needed_ him to know how sorry Erik was.

“One,” she said, and he was distantly aware of screaming in horror and anger--

* * *

* * *

Erik opened his eyes slowly and found himself sitting on his couch in his apartment. He frowned slightly, turning his head to look at the clock. Three. Three? He raised his hand to rub at his eyes, then stopped. His face was wet. He wiped his face, looking around slowly. What the hell was happening? He tried to trace back to the last time he could pinpoint anything. He’d woken, called Az about a mission, he’d eaten breakfast, taken a shower… and then blankness. Like a skip in a heartbeat. The last thing he remembered was stepping out of the shower.

He got up, testing his joints, and moved across the room to his phone, dialing Azazel.

“ _Da?”_ Azazel replied, already sounding bored.

“When did you speak to me last?” Erik prowled around the sparse apartment, cataloguing his things. Everything looked right. Everything looked… not right, actually. The apartment was messier than he usually left it… although now that he thought about it, he _had_ left it this way. He’d been in a bad mood? He couldn’t quite recall what it was that had pissed him off so thoroughly.

“When was the last time we communicated? This morning when I checked about the New York job?”

“I talked to you around eleven,” he said, sounding mildly amused. “You told me not to be worried if you seemed out of it later.”

Erik paused. He trusted very few people in this world, and Azazel was one. “I did? Did I tell you why?”

“You told me it was personal, and that if I wanted to interrogate you further, I could go fuck myself.” He snorted.

Erik snorted back. Okay. He didn’t understand _what_ had happened, but maybe… maybe he’d needed to forget something. Maybe a mission would be telepath- based and he’d gone to see someone and he’d taken something or done something so they couldn’t read it off him.

Well. He had to trust his own judgement, and he had to trust Az. “Alright,” he agreed. “Thanks.” He needed to clean up the house, it was terrible. He _never_ let his house get like this, he never left it this messy. He was an organized, controlled person.

“Anytime,” Azazel chuckled, and hung upm leaving Erik to wander slowly throughout his house and pick up the pieces.

**Author's Note:**

> Like we said, a little darker than what we usually write. So.
> 
> Thoughts? Do you want to see what comes next? Do you need a fix-it?


End file.
